Once A hitokiri, Always A Hitokiri
by Kylea
Summary: In a world where being a hitokiri is all that one man knows, if he capable of changing his ways after nearly ten years of the same lifestyle? Is he perfectly willing, or will it take someone special to force himself to back to sanity? R


Kenshin Himura, Hitokiri Battosai stood in front of a field of bodies. Breathing hard, he watched the sky turn red with the setting sun, his blood-soaked blade completely red, reflecting the sky line. He whipped the blade clean with a white cloth letting it fall amongst the bodies once he was finished with it. A Hitokiri was long adjusted to death, and where most people would lose their lunch, Battosai felt neither disgust nor shame. For four long years of war, the red-haired Hitokiri instilled fear in all who happened upon his cold, amber gaze. No one, save the strongest of the Shinsengumi captains, had ever survived that gaze.

Ever since Kenshin had left his master's guidance nearly five years ago and had been Taken in by Katsura Kogoro, he had he had been a Hitokiri. No breaks, no time off, just constant blood and murder in these dark times called the Bakumatsu.

Off in the distance, a whistle sounded. Battosai took that as his signal to flee, and ran off in a burst of his god-like speed. On his way back to the inn, he passed his would-be clean-up crew running to his same destination, stumbling over the twigs and roots that lined the streets of the city of Kyoto.

Battosai, upon reaching the inn, took the wash bucket and dumped it over his head to cleanse himself of the drying blood. He walked through the halls, all eyes watching him as he went. Battosai read their ki- it was full of fear. A slight smirk came to his lips because of this fact, but he did not slow his pace nor deter from his intended path. He reached his room at the inn; it had been his since he'd first come to be a Hitokiri. He removed his wakisashi from his waist, and placed it over his shoulder as he sat by the wall with books stacked on top of it, and drifted off into a light sleep.

Battosai awoke to the sun in his eyes, and was startled. Usually he was up well before dawn. Silently, he stood up, changed into a spare set of navy blue gi and white hakama. He slid his Wakisashi back into his belt and headed downstairs to the dining room for breakfast. AS soon as he slid the shoji door open and a lock of his red hair could be seen, all occupants of the room- except for a few who were high officers- stilled and stared at the Hitokiri. Battosai sent them all a deadly, piercing, amber glare that sent them all back to their own business, before sitting down at an empty try in the corner of the room. One of the serving girls gently placed a bowl of rice on the tray, along with chopsticks and a bowl of fruit, before hurriedly scampering away.

"Himura," A voice called from his left. He turned, immediately recognizing the voice.

"Hai?"

"All went as planned, I assume?"

"The bodies weren't cleaned up. Police." Battosai shrugged indifferently.

"Ah, so-ka." Katsura turned his gaze to the rice in his bowl briefly before looking back at Battosai. "The war won't last much longer. We'll soon win. What do you plan to do with yourself once this is all done?"

"Once a Hitokiri, always a Hitokiri. I live by the way of the sword, and in a new time when swords will be banned, I figure that I'll be needed somewhere, for something."

"So-ka." Katsura's voice dropped into thought. _Yes, I forced this upon him. I've shaped his fate thus far since he's come to me. He's become bloodthirsty. The least I can do is lead him in the right direction._ "Our final battle should be coming up within a months time, Himura. See to it that you know what to do with yourself by then." he then stood up, pushed his bowl to the edge of the tray, and left the room.

Battosai watched him leave through amber eyes. "Once a Hitokiri, always a Hitokiri, Katsura. " he mumbled. "I already know what I'm going to do. And in order to do it, my skills will be needed, just as they are now. "

The battle of Tobu Fushima. The ground was a pure red from the blood that flew freely from so many dead bodies and freshly cut wounds. The dead were strewn about on the ground, countless swords sticking out of bodies and laying scattered amongst the blood and ground, as were countless knives and daggers. Most able-bodied persons had fled the scene long ago, for the battle had ended many hours previous. Most of the wounded had been pulled away to have their wounds tended to by doctors.

One person remained, however.

Battosai had returned to the scene of the battle twice since it's completion. He found that he thrived in the pain and torture of others. No wonder seeing all the blood and gore brought a sickening smile to his lips. In the trees, he sensed a powerful swordsman. One that was alive. His hand slipped to the hilt of his katana and he looked expectantly into the trees. The figure stepped forth, and Battosai recognized him immediately. Saito Hajime, Captain of Shinsengumi troop number three. Battosai's eyes narrowed in speculation. His uniform was soaked in blood. But it was not as if Battosai could claim that his was in any better shape, however.

His jaw clenched in a snarl and a deep growl resonated out of Battosai's throat before sinking into the stance of battojutsu. Saito drew his sword and moved to the stance of the gatotsu, and the fight commenced. The captain of the third troop launched his powerful attack at the Hitokiri. At the same time, said Hitokiri was executing his battojutsu through narrow, amber eyes. Saito jumped to the side at the last moment, and the two swords met with a 'clang.'

Both opponents jumped away, readying their swords before them, preparing for the next strike. This time, it was Battosai that struck first, downwards, and into the chest. The Shinsengumi Captain merely put his sword out in front of himself, and the two swords were once more held in a deadlock. The swords were held there, each trying to force their way past the other and into it's opponent's wielder's flesh. Meanwhile, the two human opponents attempted to place the other in a vulnerable position. Battosai eventually won that war, the tip of his blade flying at Saito's chest. He stumbled back a few paces as the blade grazed his skin, sending a trickle of blood down the already blood-soaked uniform. Battosai used the opening it created to leap forth and attack Saito's chest once more. Said man tried jumping back to avoid the strike, and winded up with a top with a slash mark running it's course.

Men jumped out of the shadows, surrounding Battosai. A few battojutsu's later, each one lay on the ground, either dead or dying. Meanwhile, although Battosai's face was blood covered, his amber eyes gleamed with pleasure and stood in deep contrast with his hair and face. He looked around, but the Captain of the third troop had been whished away and out of sight. Scowling, he jumped onto the rooftop of the nearest building with stealth a ninja would envy, and headed back to the inn.

ok, i know this idea has been done before. And this is mainly worked on in my free time at school, so you must excuse me if it takes me a while to update a new chapter. however, over the summer, I'll try to update it atleast once a week. I also know that this is rather short- but keep in mind that it is also only a prolaugue. And so, on that note, r&r, please!

DModS


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